It was another one of those hot Eastern North Carolina days where if you just stand in one place for a minute, you can feel yourself melting into the tarmac, concrete, or swampland. A situation many would later acknowledge as a sacrifice.
I was among a few hundred of my fellow species pulled together by someone's brain child. Many made a pilgrimage of several hundred miles. Some are worth it, some are not. This one was.
Ninety percent of us had to sit and roast, while the weakest of the herd retreated to the edge of the tree line surrounding the site.
This was the dedication of a Vietnam veterans memorial that reported to be one of a few in the country to have all 58, 229 names of those who did not come home from the war.
Among the usual and expected ceremonial items like a color guard, band, national anthem, and pledge of allegiance, were members of each of the armed forces who spoke to the steaming crowd. Most were thoughtful enough to keep it to brief parables, a couple of them spewed harangues to move the masses into justifying why the project exists and why they should be happy to be fanning themselves with the one page program.
I was told to make a brief story out of this.(or a VOSOT in tv news lingo) But after realizing the scope of the event, it should have been made into something longer (a package with reporter audio). But I was also instructed to get a package on another event already in progress down the street. If I left the dedication ceremony when I needed to, I would have missed the best video opportunities. And I love good video like I love beef. (Don't read into that) The package story video, eventhough it was about drinking water, was as dry as the suicidal earthworms you find on the sidewalk.
During the gathering process of this story I noticed the number of names that are said to be engraved into the 65 glass panes of the memorial. With no strong visual reference to that number, it didn't get much of a reaction from me. When I saw the scope of the memorial, and how much surface area it took to accommodate all the names, the number 58,229 had me. When I watched a woman kiss her hand and lovingly touch it to the name of her loved one, it had me.
It's just a number, it's just a name scratched into a piece of glass. Only to the stoic. This work of expression is sublime. It is therapy. It ellicits powerful emotions, imparting a message from those most passionate about what it represents.
Here's a link to see my edited version of what aired.
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